


Defiant

by Nary



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Historical, Infidelity, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-06
Updated: 2011-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daeron's head was bent over his half-finished book, quill flying across the page, when his sister sauntered into the room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defiant

Daeron's head was bent over his half-finished book, quill flying across the page, when his sister sauntered into the room. He was never disturbed during his hours of writing each afternoon, but that had never stopped Daena. He didn't even look up as she came around behind him and began to read over his shoulder. "…As events would prove, the women of Dorne are beautiful, but as fierce as its men, if not moreso," she read. Daeron jumped, startled, and Daena laughed. "Aren't you done with that book yet?"

"Not yet. I'm only up to the Battle of Blackmont."

"Then why are you writing about Dornish women?" Daena had always been uncomfortably perceptive. "Why Daeron, you're blushing," she added a moment later.

"In the aftermath of a battle, ah, sometimes soldiers... celebrate... with women..." He was king, he thought crossly, he ought to be able to speak of such matters without embarrassment.

Daena looked intrigued. "There's more to this story, I take it? Let me see if I can guess... You took a Dornishwoman to your tent - was she a nobleman's daughter, or a peasant? It hardly matters, I suppose. And you had your conquering way with her. Ooh, was it your first time?" The look on his face told her everything she needed to know. "And then what? Did she try to knife you afterwards?"

"During," Daeron muttered, assiduously cleaning the nib of his quill and not looking at his sister. "It was...a moment of poor judgment on my part."

"I should say so! You were lucky not to be killed." Daena perched on the edge of the desk, legs dangling. "Still," she continued, "at least you got some fun out of it. It's more than I have."

"Baelor hasn't, ah, consummated your marriage yet?" He had hoped that Daena would have been able to take that situation in hand, so that he wouldn't have to be the one to explain to their saintly brother why it was necessary for him to do his duty in this regard.

"Not so much as a kiss," she said. "I think I shall have to start wearing white if he doesn't do something soon. Shame him into bedding me." She let her black silk slipper fall from her foot and slid it along Daeron's thigh. "It should have been you I married. Let Baelor have Rhaena, she's more his type." Her foot crept higher. "Sweet." Higher. "Pious." She reached the fork of his legs, rubbing him teasingly with the ball of her foot. "Innocent." Daeron groaned, grabbing her by the ankle and pushing her away, but it only served to force her legs apart. She had nothing on beneath her gown - she had tugged it up as if to give him a better view. "Make me yours," she pleaded, sliding down until she was practically atop him, her arms twined about his neck.

They had always thought they would marry, from the time they were children, but of late it had seemed wiser for the king to seek a match with Dorne, to cement his gains there. He could still remember the kiss she had given him when he first departed to war. She had been only twelve then, but he had still felt her love burning against his lips. Now she was a woman grown - wedded, if not yet bedded - and she wanted him with a fire that surpassed anything he had ever felt before. He knew he should have refused, walked away, but he found he couldn't.

His hands, ink-stained, moved as if by their own will, pushing her skirts up her pale legs, leaving black traces behind, thumbprints on the soft skin of her thighs as he parted them. At least her gown wouldn't show the stains, he thought fleetingly. She was wet for him, and once their clothes were pushed aside it took only a moment's work for her to slide herself down onto his equally-impatient cock. She gasped, clinging to him hard, and he held her just as tightly, wishing he never had to let her go.

"Don't worry," she whispered afterwards as he kissed the hollow of her neck and stroked her silvery hair, "I don't have a knife."


End file.
